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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505376">Home, The Place Where I Belong</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFireInHerEyes/pseuds/TheFireInHerEyes'>TheFireInHerEyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Avengers Family, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFireInHerEyes/pseuds/TheFireInHerEyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been 78 years since Steve Rogers has felt whole; complete. 78 years he has been separated from the love of his life, the only dame in the world who could’ve stolen his heart and gave hers in return.</p><p>78 years passed and he still thinks of your laugh, your smile, your voice. 78 years and he hasn’t been able to move on, not in the way others expect him too.</p><p>How can he? You were the greatest person he knew. You were the one who loved him wholly and expected nothing else in return. You were the only dame in the city who saw Steve for his worth before he became the great Captain America.</p><p>You were his wife, and when he sacrificed himself to save the world, he didn’t just lose his life; he lost you.</p><p>Since the beginning of the Avengers forming, he hasn’t let go of your picture with the pocket watch you worked double shifts to afford. He hasn’t spoken a word of you, not to anyone, not out of embarrassment or shame, but to try and lessen the loneliness, the ache.</p><p>After the Snap, after the world is saved from Thanos and the stones are to be taken back to their rightful place, Steve knows that this could be his only chance.</p><p>He can have that one great love again, he can have his wife back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Reader, Steve Rogers &amp; Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers &amp; Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>He was nervous, anxious. What would you think of the man he had become? What would you think of the man who came back a hero, but lost more than he had ever imagined?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What would you think of your dear husband now that he was…so different? Would you still love the man who was no longer the stick thin, sickly person he was before?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Would you still hold all the tender affections you had before? Would you still caress his skin and whisper sweet poems into his ear late at night to help him sleep?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was afraid that your love for him would die, that you would cast him aside. Was he being paranoid?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It had been so long since he had seen you, so long since he had held you in his arms. He loved you, he loved you wholly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He loved you more than he loved the sun, the moon and the stars. His heart beat for you. He breathed for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was a hero, they claimed. But in your presence he felt as if he were a humble man asking to see the face of an angel. He felt…unworthy of your sweet love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were so kind and strong in those days when he grew sick, was sick of every possible ailment. You stood by him even when he wished desired to go over seas to fight a terrible war, knowing that he might not be back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Darling,” Steve called out when he heard the front door to your tiny apartment open, “I’m in the living room.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sound of a thud, your heels hitting the cracked tile floor as you dropped them at the entrance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Steve?” You called his name and his heart leapt out of his chest. Your sweet voice brought a smile to his face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hi sweetheart.” He adjusted the army greens that seemed too constricting. “I missed you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The moments that passed between his departure to training, to the circus task performing on stage, to his time on the front lines, had all been for this. For you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Steve…” Your left hand covered your mouth, the glint of the small diamond on your ring finger caught and reflected the sun. “You’re…so much bigger in person.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’d seen him after the injection. You’d seen how he had changed, but not in the way he wanted. You had seen him in pictures, films, newspapers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This was the first time he had been able to show you the change in person.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“D-do you like it?” All Steve had been through and he was still nervous around you, still afraid that your love would fade.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Look at you…” You crossed the distance, your bare feet hitting and padding on the worn wood floor of your living room. “Steve…you’re home…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you were within reach, he placed his larger hands on your hips. His hands, now, had completely covered your hip bones. Steve looked into your eyes, searched your face as is he was looking at the sun for the first time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m home sweetheart.” He leaned down, he brushed his lips against yours in the gentlest kiss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wouldn’t dare tell you that this wouldn’t last long, that could wait for another hour, another day.</em>
</p><p>Steve opened his eyes and the feeling of emptiness and regret, despair was almost too much for him to manage. It filled him with such longing it could’ve driven him mad.</p><p>It was the same dream that plagued him more frequently than the rest. The memory of a lifetime before, the very last time he saw you before he plunged into the ice.</p><p>He often wondered if Peggy had given you his last message, the last love filled plea he could make as he broke his promise to return to you for good.</p><p>He felt it, the remaining guilt of not being able to make good on every promise he had made. The life you were supposed to have together, the life lived until old age, a life with children, was stripped away from him, away from you.</p><p>And by the time he had been pulled from the ice in 2011, he knew. When he found out that the year he had been awakened was the modern age, Steve felt it. He felt the loss of you, he knew that he had failed. He’d failed you.</p><p>“Home,” he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde, cropped hair, “the place where I belong.”</p><p>He sat up and glanced out the window toward the New York skyline. On the wooden nightstand beside his bed sat an old pocket watch, the black and white picture inside was his most prized possession.</p><p>He reached for the pocket watch and stopped, his hand hovered but didn’t touch the silver. Instead, he grabbed the object to the right, he held the sleek black back tightly, as it rang out throughout the darkened room.</p><p>“Home.” He muttered before answering the call, holding the phone up to his ear.</p><p>The voice on the other line was Nat’s. A reminder that he was due back at the Avengers Tower soon, a reminder that she needed him.</p><p>It was another day passed, another day where he had to be Captain America, where he had to don the shield and fight the good fight. Fight for the world’s survival.</p><p>Another day as a hero, another day without you.</p><p>“I’m coming in, Nat.” He hung up the phone and set it back down on the wooden nightstand, finally reaching for the pocket watch.</p><p>The silver pocket watch was a gift to him, from you. It was the product of you working double shifts until you could afford the thing. You hid it from Steve for weeks, and then on his birthday in 1938, you gave it to him.</p><p>You had taped a picture of the two of you on top of the watch as a joke. You said that time stood still when the two of you were together, and if you had each other, what else was there.</p><p>The picture, it was one of his favorites.</p><p>It was taken at Coney Island a week and a half before his birthday. Steve didn’t want to have his picture taken, but when you asked, when you grabbed his hand and pleaded with him, he gave in.</p><p>He would’ve moved heaven and earth for you if he could. Even at 20 years old, stick thin and sickly, more health problems than not, Steve knew he wanted to marry you.</p><p>But you’d only been dating a few months and he didn’t want to risk scaring you off by telling you how much he loved you, wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.</p><p>He waited a year, and had Bucky bugging him every day about when the magic question would come, when you could officially be called the future Mrs. Rogers.</p><p>Steve proposed in 1939. America entered the war 1941. 1945 was the last time he saw you.</p><p>Steve closed the pocket watch and clutched it in his left hand. His wedding ring had been taken by the people who pulled him out of the ice, never returned. He often wondered if you kept yours on your finger as a reminder, or if you’d stowed it away for safe keeping.</p><p>Steve wondered if you had been buried in it when you died or if you passed it on to any of your living relatives. There were so many unknowns, so many questions.</p><p>Steve didn’t know if he would ever have an answer for them, and even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered.</p><p>He would still be incomplete, he would still harbor feelings of regret and guilt.</p><p>But more than that, he would search for any possible way to get back to you.</p><p>To come home. To you. The place where he belongs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Will you just trust me, punk?” Bucky lead Steve through the alleys by his boarding house toward the local theater.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve had been coerced into a double date with Bucky, an attempt at to not only make him a little less lonely, but to give him a chance with a great dame.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve was reluctant, he didn't think there would a dame in the whole city of New York who would see Steve for the great man he was. He knew they wouldn’t see past his short, thin frame. They wouldn't see past his ailments and health problems.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve thought that whatever dame Bucky brought along would be more interested in Bucky than himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What'd you tell this time?” Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his thin coat as he walked side by side with Bucky.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y/N is a friend of Becca’s. A few years older than the brat, but Y/N's a pretty dame. I think you’ll like her.” Bucky grinned and nudged Steve in the ribs, smiling charmingly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky was the charismatic and charming man most girls wanted to be with. He was the energetic and healthy counterpart to Steve's sick, thin, weaker self.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It wasn't from a lack of experience that Steve's self-degrading opinions came from. The attempts Bucky made to set Steve up with a pretty dame had usually ended the same; Steve was ignored and Bucky had both of the girls attention.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don't know about this, Buck.” Steve scuffed his worn black shoes against the stone sidewalk, kicking a small stone away from him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, well I do.” Bucky had turned away, started searching the small crowds outside the theater before he raised his arm and waved. “Ready for this punk?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Bucky lowered his arm and cast a look back at Steve, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed a frowned. Bucky's own blue eyes were narrowed slightly, calculating Steve's lack of interest as a sign that he might bail.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I really don't-"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bucky!” The attention was drawn off of Steve as Bucky's name was called, and the two girls they were waiting for, moved toward them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey girls!” Bucky greet the two pretty woman very differently.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The taller and thinner redhead was greet with a kiss to the cheek, a flirty greeting for Bucky's date. The other, the shorter woman with a more voluptuous frame, was greet by Bucky slinging his arm over her shoulders and directing her away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y/N,” Bucky walked the pair of you over to Steve, “meet Steve Rogers. Steve, this is your date Y/N.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve couldn't speak. He couldn't even open his mouth to speak. Bucky had told him you were a ‘pretty dame’, but he used the term ‘pretty' laxly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hi.” You greet him with a smile, bright and warm. “I've heard a lot about you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve was going to kick himself later, he was going to beat himself up for not saying something. Anything. He was going to relive this moment over and over, and call himself a dummy for not being able to think, speak.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your eyes were hazel, but Steve could’ve mistaken them for gold. The captivating color of your eyes were equally warm and inviting, as they were intriguing. Your eyes held him, held his attention. You held his attention.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You gonna say something, Steve?” Bucky laughed at the situation, nudging Steve to speak, to do anything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When his senses got a hold of him again, Steve smiled small, held out his hand for you to take. He could feel Bucky's questioning eyes on him, he knew he'd be asked about the strange way of greeting a pretty dame later.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Nice to meet you, ma'am.” Steve would’ve kicked himself again for being such an awkward dolt around pretty dames, if hadn't put your hand in his anyway.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you shook hands, but didn't let go, Steve felt a quick shot of heat hit him in his cheeks. He was blushing, he was flushed. This is the most attention he'd gotten from a dame he was set up with, in a long while.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bucky come on!” his date grabbed his arm, tried to drag him along. “The movie’s going to start!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky nudged Steve, shot him a grin. “Are you coming, punk?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve looked at you, heat rising to his cheeks again. You didn't spend all your attention on Bucky. You had hardly looked Bucky's way since you'd been introduced to Steve.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All your attention was on him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“D-do you want to go in?” He shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, he didn't want to risk fiddling with his hands, making himself look a fool.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course, Steve.” When you smiled at him again, your hazel-gold eyes fixated on nothing but him, he felt another rush of heat to his cheeks, the newfound butterflies in his stomach fluttering.</em>
</p><p>He could see the color of your eyes through the black and white photo taped to the face of the silver pocket watch he kept on him.</p><p>He could see the warm and inviting hazel-gold eyes of the love of his life, he could hear your laughter, your joy. He could almost feel the softness of your lips pressed against his cheek, the red lip rouge you often used leaving a mark on his cheek.</p><p>Steve traced the outline of the picture with heavy regret. He never got to have the life he wanted with the woman he loved. He never got to experience the joys of growing old together, married and in love.</p><p>The short amount of time you were married was spent during a time of war. A time where Steve wasn't home as much as he wished, a time when you would be waiting anxiously for a letter, either from him or the government giving you their deepest and greatest regrets, an announcement that he had been killed in action.</p><p>It was a reality of the times, and even though the letters you wrote him were rather upbeat and optimistic, Steve could read between the lines. He knew that beneath the positivity, you were worried.</p><p>About him and Bucky.</p><p>“Who's the girl?” Nat spoke with a shaking voice, on the verge of crying again.</p><p>Steve hasn't told anyone about you. He hadn't wanted to. Not out of embarrassment, or even shame, Steve kept your marriage close to his chest to keep it sacred.</p><p>There were some things best kept to himself. The team of Avengers didn't need to know every detail of his life, lest of all you.</p><p>Bucky was the only person who knew about you, about your marriage. The Snap took him, he was dusted, and Steve kept you, your marriage, even tighter to his chest.</p><p>“You alright?” he avoided her question, closed the pocket watch and slipped it back into safety. “You feeling okay?”</p><p>The Snap was hard on everyone who survived. There were so many lives that had been lost, that had been taken by Thanos, and the last 5 years had been spent trying to make sense of the world as it was now.</p><p>Natasha was a brave woman, she was putting on a brave face and taking control of what she could, as she could. She was the face, the leader of the remaining Avengers at the time. She was keeping everyone in contact, checking on the status of the world as it changed and developed since the Snap.</p><p>“I keep telling people to move on.” Steve sat down on one of the chairs in front of her desk, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded under his chin.</p><p>“I keep telling people they can't be living in the past and they need to accept what they can't change.” His throat grew tighter, his voice rose. “I tell other people to move on because I can't.”</p><p>He raised his head slightly, glanced across the desk toward Nat. Her watery green eyes were focused on a painting on the far wall, her lip trembling. “I can’t stop…”</p><p>She wiped her hands against her cheeks, clearing the tear drops from her skin. She exhaled slowly, taking the time to try and calm herself down.</p><p>“We've fallen apart, Steve. Clint has gone rogue, he's started a killing spree in Tokyo, Tony hasn't spoken to any of us in 5 years, Thor is God knows where. Bruce has…” She sniffled and shook her head.</p><p>“We’re broken.” She pulled her feet off the corner of the desk and sat up. “When Clint saved me, when he defied orders to kill me, he saved me. And I got a family. You are all my family. And now it’s broken. We’ve fallen apart. And it breaks…it breaks my heart.”</p><p>Steve reached out and grabbed her hand, he squeezed her hand in comfort and solidarity. They would find a way to fix this, they had to find a way to fix it.</p><p>“I can't move on.” Nat squeezed Steve's hand.</p><p>“Neither can I.” Steve mirrored her with his own truth.</p><p>He could never, would never, move on from you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Your hand was clutched tightly in his as you drug him behind you to the couch, your eagerness for his birthday infectious, but more than that, it made Steve feel special.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You made him feel far more special than he had in a long time. And that was your gift. With the smallest and softest smile to the powerful encouraging words you spoke to him day after day, you made Steve feel worth more than he saw in himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You made him feel like he was more than just the thin, short and sickly man than he was. You were his rock, his confidante.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You didn’t have to do all this for me, doll.” Steve tried to protest, he didn’t think he was worth the effort. You had already been working so much, double shifts at the corner café and Steve didn’t want you to push yourself past your limit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shh.” You silenced him by gently pushing him on the couch, and giving him a soft, sweet kiss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve leaned into your kiss, enjoying the warmth of your lips on his, feeling the electricity from your touch. He would’ve pulled you down, he would’ve pulled you further into him, but he didn’t get the chance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You pulled away and righted yourself. You stared down at him with your hazel-gold eyes and a wide smile on your face. Your eyes searched his as your hand squeezed his,.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The moment felt like the most intimate moment between you two. The kiss ignited a fire in him, a roaring heat that flickered and grew the longer he looked at you, the longer he could smell the sweet flowery scent of your perfume.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I have a surprise for you.” You stepped back and smoothed down the wrinkles in your simple dress before holding up your hands. “Wait here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve watched you go, his curiosity peaked. As he sat on the worn couch in your one bedroom apartment, he rubbed his sweaty palms down the thighs of his light brown pants. He had taken off his jacket and rest it on the arm of the couch, remaining in his thin dark sweater, the only glimpse of the shirt he wore under that was the cheap tie around his neck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve swallowed the thick pill in his throat, waiting nervously for your return. To this point in your relationship, neither you nor Steve had been physically intimate, choosing rather to save the physical intimates of sex for a time when you relationship was even deeper.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sweetheart?” Steve called out to you, receiving no answer in return. “Are you okay?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another minute of silence passed and then Steve heard the padding of your bare feet against the wooden floors. He sat up and watched with heightened interest, and then a gaze heavy with admiration and love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Happy Birthday, Steve.” You came back carrying a small package wrapped with cheap brown paper and a shiny ribbon, and in the other hand was a single cupcake with a candle in it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You did this all for me?” He was surprised for certain, at the simple act that was so generously thought out and perfect.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were perfect.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I had to celebrate the birthday of my favorite person.” You walked toward him slowly, setting the cupcake on the coffee table first, and then the package.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m your favorite person?” Steve watched the glow of the candle, afraid that if he looked at you, he would cry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Steve,” you placed your hand on his cheek and turned his face toward you, “you are the strongest, bravest man I know. I love you more than I can say. Of course you’re my favorite person.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His blue-green eyes were on you, and he couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t dare look aware. This was better than he could’ve imagined, better than he could’ve hoped for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were the best girl; his best girl.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I love you too, sweetheart.” Steve wove his fingers into your hair and pulled you into a rather bold and passionate kiss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Every emotion, every ounce of love he had for you, he poured into that kiss. You were his everything and he would show you that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Wait, wait,” you pulled away and grabbed the small wrapped box, “open your present. You need to open it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve clutched the box in his hand, examining the care you took in wrapping the brown paper and the single bright ribbon. He was afraid to open it, afraid to ruin all your effort.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Open it!” it was only after your prodding, that Steve opened it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tore apart the paper, revealing the black box underneath. He cracked it open and his blue-green eyes fell upon a shiny, brand new silver pocket watch. He lift the simple silver pocket watch from the box, staring at it with mild confusion.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Baby, this is…” You closed his hand around the door silver.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I wanted to do something special for you, Steve.” When you moved your hand, he opened the watch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Covering the watch face was a picture of the two of you from Coney Island taped to the front. Your arms were around his neck, your lips attached to his cheek.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bucky gave me grief about taping our picture over the face. But I told him that when we’re together, time stands still. And as long as I have you and you have me, that’s all we need.”</em>
</p><p>Steve stood before the iron metal gates in the year 1961, ignoring the looks he was receiving from both Tony and Scott. He stood there with his arms by his sides, his lungs burning and his heart breaking.</p><p>He couldn’t explain why he needed to come here to Tony and Scott, they wouldn’t understand without seeing the stone, without seeing the name.</p><p>“Why are we here?” Scott directed the question to Tony, who was as puzzled as he was.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>The first step Steve took the breath from his lungs. The second made his heart drop into his stomach. The third nearly brought Steve to his knees.</p><p>“Rogers, what’re we doing here?” Steve pushed the iron gate open, the squeak of the gate was the only sound heard other than his breathing.</p><p>He walked along the path of stones and markers, knowing the exact path to take, the exact place where his love, his heart lay. He knew they were following him, he knew that Tony and Scott had a lot of questions, a lot of wonderment about why they were in a graveyard, and Steve would answer those questions.</p><p>In one way or another.</p><p>“Rogers?” When Steve came to the right plot, the correct headstone, he did fall to his knees.</p><p>He kneeled in front of the polished stone and removed the old army uniform hat upon his head and tucked it under his arm. He swallowed thickly, the tightening in his chest and the churning of his stomach a suitable reaction.</p><p>“Y/N Rogers?” Scott stepped to the right of the headstone, and Tony to the left. “Is this your relative?”</p><p>Steve couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t speak at first. He couldn’t manage to do anything, feel anything other than guilt. Regret. Stinging pain.</p><p>You were the most beautiful light of his life, you were the joy. You loved him at the weakest moment, when he could’ve died from a simple infectious flu. You lived him when he thought very little of himself.</p><p>“This belongs to-“ he didn’t want to say it. “-Y/N is…was…my wife.”</p><p>The silence of the two men he was with spoke volumes. They didn’t know he was married. Not many people did. Bucky was the only living person who knew Steve’s secret.</p><p>Now it was just Steve.</p><p>“How did she die?” Scott was hesitant to ask, afraid that he may have offended the captain.</p><p>“She died in 1947. She was only 26.” Steve felt the familiar sharp pain in his chest. “Y/N got pneumonia after a hard winter. She spent 6 weeks in the hospital but never recovered.”</p><p>Steve reached out, he brushed his fingers against the letters of your name, of the date of your death. The inscribed letters under the pads of his fingers felt wrong. You shouldn’t have died so young, so horribly.</p><p>“Steve, I’m so sorry.” Tony squeezed his shoulder. “But we have to go back. We’ve been here too long.”</p><p>Steve didn’t look back over his shoulder. He pushed his palm flat against your headstone and whispered a goodbye to you.</p><p>For now.</p>
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